i LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, i 






^0. . C fP^ 



I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | 



POEMS. 



4^ 
GEORGE Hf CALVERT. 




BOSTON: 
WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & CO. 

1847. 



7^ 



T4 



C? 



Entered according to Act of Congress^ in the year 1847, by 

George H. Calvert, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

METCALF AND COMPANY, 

PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 



<N • 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

HOPE PROPHESIES TO MAN 7 

ASPIRATION ....... 10 

THE martyr's mother 21 

THE LOVED DEPARTED . . . . , 15 

DIDACTIC 27 

WHY ARE POETS SAD? 22 

BURNS •......, 03 

IMPROMPTU 27 

O, DREAM NO MORE ! 29 

TO LITTLE MARY GRIFFIN 32 

INVOCATION 3^^ 

FREILIGRATH 35 



IV CONTENTS. 

THE LOST FOUND 40 

GIVE ! GIVE ! 42 

AGNES .44 

I WILL BE FREE 46 

THE SUFFERINGS OF JESUS 49 

THE BERNESE ALPS AT SUNSET . . . . 51 

A GORGEOUS SUNSET . . . . . » . 53 

ECHO FROM ITALY IN 1830 .... 54 

REUBEN JAMES 56 

SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI 58 

EPIGRAMS. 

THE POETASTER 69 

'^ GREAT STATESMEN " . . . . . 70 

ISMS 71 

SONNETS. 

ON THE FIFTY-FIFTH SONNET OF SHAKSPEARE . 77 

TO THE STATUE OF EVE, BY POWERS ... 79 

TO THE SAME ....... 81 

TO THE LEGISLATURE OF MARYLAND ... 83 

FROM GOETHE. 

A CONFESSION 89 



CONTENTS. V 
SONGS. 

christel 91 

sweetness of sorrow 93 

wanderer's night-song . . . , 94 

a defiance . , 95 

hymn of the archangels .... 98 

proverbial 101 

EPIGRAMMATIC 109 

MISCELLANEOUS 116 

A PARABLE 119 

THE HYPOCHONDRIAC 121 

FIVE THINGS 122 

FIVE OTHER THINGS ...... 123 

A REVIEWER 124 



POEMS. 



HOPE PROPHESIES TO MAN. 

See Hope her glittering pinions plume, 

Joy gushing from her eyes ; 
As though she knew not of man's gloom. 

Nor ever heard his cries. 
Not fresher looks the dewy dawn. 

Awakening perfumed May, 
And calm, as though could ne'er be drawn 

Storm's curtain o'er his day. 



HOPE PROPHESIES TO MAN. 

Hope has her throne upon the light. 

That breaks from out the east ; 
Behind her lowers still the night, 

Before her night has ceased. 
Thus riding on the ushering rays. 

That greet the expectant earth, 
She shares the glory that displays 

Each morn at its great birth. 



With light she comes, and hght she brings ; 

Without her what were Morn ? 
Dull are the beams Day 'fore him flings, 

To those with her are bom. 
The Sun his heavenly task might close. 

And Earth in darkness grope ; 
For life would sink in torture's throes, 

Were man bereft of Hope. 



HOPE PROPHESIES TO MAN. 

And she has voices deeper still 
Than for the single ear, — 

Voices that tell, with heavenly will, 
Humanitv's career. 

Who 's blest to hear them, sees arise 
Such splendors in the van, 

That, rapt in ecstasy, he cries, 

PIOPE PROPHESIES TO MAN. 



10 



ASPIRATION. 



Were we what we might be, 

We 'd not look back with sadness ; 

But the Past as brightly 

Would shine as present gladness. 

W%re we what we could be. 

We 'd not look forward fearing ; 

But the Future would be 

As sunlight warm and cheering. 



11 



THE MARTYR'S MOTHER. 



A PASSAGE PROM THE HISTORY OP THE REFORMATION IN FRANCE, 
AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 



'^ First strip his shoulders bare, 

Then through the streets of Meaux 
Scourge the cursed wretch, who 'd dare 
More than his priest to know. 
The scourging done, let the hot brand 
Hiss on his brow from hangman's hand." 



12 



Called priests of Christ were they. 

The judges who thus spake ; 
So darkened was the day, 
That with Lord Jesus brake. 
For Jesus said, " Love one another " ; 
These loved themselves, and cursed their brother. 

His hands behind him bound. 
His back the martyr bent ; 
His life-drops on the ground, 
They marked the path he went. 
Calmly as earth the wild storm's flashes. 
Receives his soul the priest-bid lashes. 

Like bloodhounds on a trail. 

The yelling multitude. 
With bitter, mocking hail, 
His glorious track pursued. 
The blinded crowd so seldom knows 
Its benefactors from its foes. 



THE martyr's BIOTHER. 13 

But silent was the tear. 

From bleeding hearts upsent. 
For the brave teacher dear. 
Their bondage who had rent. 
And some, who yet had not the truth, 
Deep groaned with fructifying ruth. 

That soul-steeped look, — whence broke it ? 

To his strong heart a balm ; 
That valiant word, — who spoke it ? 
It made his courage calm. 
So look, so speak, could only one ; 
A mother worthy of tlie son. 

Ceases the blood-wet rod ; 
The iron 's in the fire ; 
1' the name of mercy's God,. 

Rome's priests will slake their ire. 
Th6 headsman's arm is up, — and now 
The iron 's on the martyr's brow. 



14 THE MARTYE's mother. 

Like. one fierce lightning streak 

On the black calm of night, 

On that hushed crowd a shriek 

Fell with appalling might. 

^' Glory to Jesus Christ,'^ it cried, 

" And all his w^itnesses ! " and died. 

The throng and soldiers melt, 

Subdued, o'erwhelmed with awe ; 
The priests, e'en they too felt 
She was above their law. 
A heart- voice tunes all to its mood, 
So deep 's our bond of brotherhood. 

Thus could a mother sing 

For Christ and Truth that day ; 
She, too, had quelled pain's sting. 
The awed crowd give her way 
To her humble hearth, the noble one : 
In triumph followed her her son. 



15 



THE LOVED DEPARTED. 



Solemn as their voices dying, * 
Silent as the graves they lie in, 
Tender as a mother's yearnings, 
Secret as a wife's heart-hurnings, 
Sweet as tears of the kind-hearted. 
Are thoughts of the loved departed. 



16 THE LOVED DEPARTED. 

Now their aspects greet us cheerful. 
Now with something sad or tearful ; 
Still and mystic come their faces, 
Hallowed by unearthly graces. 
Welcome aye, w^hence ever darted. 
Visions of the dear departed. 



When least looked for come before us 
These pure visions, to restore us, — 
When a sordid passion 's scheming, 
When with anger eyes are gleaming. 
Blessed be whatever started 
Memories of the loved departed. 



17 



DIDACTIC. 



Health's temple is the body fair. 

High miracle of art, 
A perfect God-built palace, where 

Strength, Beauty, each, full part 
From Life may drink, that floweth there, 

The fountain of the heart. 
Keep pure and sweet, is Heaven's command, 
This temple, thus divinely planned. 
2 



18 DIDACTIC. 

Within this temple is a light. 

And deep a holy well. 
Kindled and nourished from the height 

Whence all beginnings swell. 
Virtues and powers have they, so bright 

Their splendors none can tell. 
If free the intellect and soul, 
Man is a generous, joyous whole. 



Let in its might the mind awake, 

It speaks the eternal law ; 
Like sun-struck mists. Time's trammels break. 

Pale falsehoods faint with awe ; 
While round them, Love, Truth, Beauty, shake 

The light from God they draw, 
That hghts to boundless liberty. 
To earn this freedom, what do we ? 



DIDACTIC. 19 

We blast our bodies with the ills 

Of vice and ignorance bom ; 
Our minds we dwarf, we lame our wills. 

Till e'en ourselves we scorn ; 
Each one his breast with self o'erfiUs, 

Making each one forlorn ; 
And then, when woes thick on us burst. 
We moan, — '' By fate and Heaven we 're curst." 



High intellect is lowly used 

To glut unrighteous needs. 
Its keenest edges roughly bruised 

Upon hard, selfish deeds ; 
The soul's warm wants are cold refused, 

Stinted wuth meagre creeds ; 
And then, by endless strifes outworn. 
We wail, — '' Poor man was made to mourn." 



20 DIDACTIC. 

Disorder, by brute force strong bound. 

Order and law we call. 
And 'bout the reeking earthy mound 

Religion 's made a wall ; 
Thin theologic paps are ground. 

To sweeten man-mixed gall ; 
And heavenly earth thus made a hell. 
We 'd save us by the old church-bell ! 



21 



WHY ARE POETS SAD? 



Saw'st thou e'er the clean proportions, 

Schemed in fulness of thy soul, 
Marred to look more like distortions 

Than the beauty of a whole ? 
Heard'st thou e'er poetic passion. 

Music-wrought to thrill the heart, 
Tamed by some insipid fashion, 

Or by players with false art ? 
Hast thou ever, with the feeling 

That the ill might have been stayed. 



22 WHY ARE POETS SAD? 

Watched a loved one, while was stealing 

Death upon her like a shade ? 
Who thwartings such as these has had. 
May know why poets oft are sad. 

Poets' lives are daily thwartings ; 

In their souls they bear such needs, 
That to them are ceaseless smartings. 

What the world calls highest meeds. 
Music sings in their heart-stirrings, 

That can find no earthly voice ; 
Life's best actual forms are blurrings. 

To the beauty of their choice. 
Man's great sorrows, with heart-feeling. 

Daily they in secret moan ; 
From their eyes are often stealing 

For man's woes warm tears unknown. 
No poet 's he who can be glad, 
With so much round to make him sad. 



23 



BURNS. 



Quivering with strength, from earth he springs ; 
Defiant shouts his strange voice rings. 
Gazing afar, hke some lone tower. 
His nostrils panting restless power, 
His big eyes darting eager fire, 
With rustic hand he strikes his lyre. 



24 BURNS, 

From the long sleep, so dreamless slept, 
Scotland, like a roused laggard, leapt. 
Rolls the clear tide of a new song 
Through her heart's channels, void so long. 
High swelling now, with lively beat, 
To sounds so earnest, stirring, sweet. 

With quickened pulse each bosom hears, 
In tones that shift from mirth to tears, 
And where, too, clarion notes are pealed, 
Its inmost feeling bright revealed. 
A nation's face, thus freshly wrought, 
Beams with a smile of joyful thought. 

Few years had passed since first w^as heard 
That fiery heart's awakening word ; 
Its mighty throb, that warm life sent 
To million hearts, and with them blent 
In rapturous unison, is still ; 
Tranquil so soon in Death's pale chill. 



BURNS. 25 

Wasted ; by soul-sprung griefs outworn ; 
By proud heart-struggles inly torn ; 
Disconsolate, despairing, crushed ; 
Before his time in misery hushed ; 
Great Burns went early 'mongst the dead. 
His eye still gleaming thoughts unsaid. 

Could he have had but half his due. 
Had half was felt and done been true, 
His generous soul had then been soothed, 
And timelier his last pillow smoothed. 
Traduced, banned, poor, he died heart-broken, — 
The noblest Scot that e'er has spoken. 

He whose large will, if matched with power, 
Had rained all gifts in ceaseless shower, 
Who did give gifts but by those given 
Endowed to bless the earth from Heaven, — 
Thoughts to enrich all time to come, — 
Earned his poor bread by gauging rum. 



26 BURNS. 

A noble man, divinely strung 

For all the virtues he has sung, 

Finds wrenched by lies into divorce 

From good, man's pith, his feelings force ; 

Is driven to the tavern's stench. 

His brotherly yearnings there to quench. 

Instead of honor, condescension ; 
Instead of peace, hot, coarse contention ; 
'Stead of high work fit for great souls, 
He had the low, slow toil of moles ; 
A victim of the falsehoods strong. 
That make of men a scrambling throng. 

Passions in him were lashed to madness. 
That might have been a well of gladness ; 
Sources of joy turned into sadness. 
His very goodness into badness : 
A strong man bound in the world's lies 
And multiform hypocrisies. 



27 



IMPROMPTU, 



ON BEING ASKED FOR A FEW LINES TO ACCOMPANY A CANARY 
BIRD, SENT AS FROM A LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. 



'T IS only song can utter love. 

Its agonies and blisses ; 
For song, too, springeth from above. 

Far, far from sin's abysses. 



28 IMPROMPTIT. 

Alas for me ! I cannot sing, 

And yet love will be spoken : 
O, for the poet's golden string ! 

My heart will else be broken. 

I '11 send my bird to speak my part, 

O, hearken to his singing ! 
And when 't would seem he 'd burst his heart, 

Think that with mine 't is ringing. 



29 



O, DREAM NO MOEE ! 



O, dream no more of heavens to be ! 

Heaven is, within, around you ; 
Wake from a selfish lethargy. 

Where misty visions bound you. 

Cease resting on a joy, to start 

When first the grave shall press you ; 

The throbbing, living, longing heart 
Is full of joys to bless you. 



30 O, DREAM NO MORE ! 

O5 dream no more of hells to be ! 

Hell 's here, around, within you : 
What are the groans of imagery, 

To those from earth that din you ? 

Awake, and live ; 't is dawn at last : 
Hark, how your brothers call you. 

Awake, and love ; let go the past, 
Shake off the hates that thrall you. 

O, dream no more ! rouse up and be : 
Make Love and Beauty bound you ; 

And so at last humanity 

Shall grow a heaven around you. 



31 



TO LITTLE MARY GEIFFIN, 

GRANDDAUGHTER OF CAPTAIN JAMES LAWRENCE. 

Sole scion of a noble breed ! 
Thy sparkling, laughing eyes 
In dearest bosoms throw the seed 
Of saddest memories. 
Then quick thy wiles. 
And roguish smiles, 
Banish all miseries. 



32 TO LITTLE MARY GEIFFIN. 

Joy-darting life and nimble grace 

Thy blooming limbs enfold ; 
More thoughts are struggling through thy face, 
Than thy young eyes can hold. 
May body's health. 
And spirit's wealth. 
Be aye, as now, foretold. 



Thy merry voice makes glad the air. 

While through thy tongue Hope sings : 
And from thy playful tresses fair 
Joy leaps in sunny rings. 
Beautiful child ! 
On thee be piled 
All gifts that goodness brings ! 



Throughout thy grandsire's country wide. 
Welcomed thou aye wilt be. 



TO LITTLE MARY GRIFFIN. 33 

All hearts, for that brave death he died. 
Thankful his child to see. 
May thy grandsire's 
Soul-lifting fires 
Shine womanly in thee ! 



34 



INVOCATION. 



O Thou, who smilest in the Spring's glad bloom ! 
Whose love is dimly seen in good men's deeds ! 
Source of all life ! Mysterious, awful Presence ! 
Power beneficent ! Pour of thy grace 
Upon my spirit, that would purely mount. 
O, multiply in me the blessed moods, 
When Beauty swathes me in her fiery wings, 
And from all selfish thoughts upwafts me swift. 
Through realms of growing light, towards the high 

centre. 
Where, in eternal fulgence mild, Truth dwells. 



35 



FREILIGRATH. 



Where the old Rhine most proudly shows 
His beauties and his grandeurs mild. 

As by St. Goar's walls he flows. 

And 'neath broad Rheinfels' wreck uppiled,- 

'T was there the poet simply dwelt, 

And simply sang of what he felt. 



36 FREILIGRATH- 

I knew him there, and that sweet spot 
Lay after in my memory's folds 

More fragrantly, that 't was my lot 

To meet there what one glad beholds, - 

A gentle, modest man, God-gifted, 

In world's wares low, by worth uplifted. 

A frugal pension from his king. 
Enough his bounded wants to sate. 

Left him all free to roam and sing, 
Thus duly honored by the state. 

Thought-breeding spirits, in that land. 

Are nourished from the public hand. 

His image lived within my mind, 

As drew him there his verse and mien ; 

A man, kind, gentle, and refined, 
A poet, whom 't were hard to wean 

From quiet thought, and the calm moods 

Mild natures love in fields and woods. 



FREILIGRATH. 37 

A few years passed ; — I was at home. 

One day, as o'er some British leaves 
My eye all listlessly did roam. 

Suddenly to the page it cleaves. 
Fixed by the poet's name, and reads 
The story of his Muse and deeds. 

At first the picture was the same 

That I had laid within my breast ; 
But soon, strange, startling words there came 

Of flight, imprisonment, arrest. 
By dread and wonder overpowered, 
The tale I trembUngly devoured. 

With beautiful dilation swelled 

That stored-up image, as I learned 

How he his wrath for years had quelled. 

Had hushed the love wherew^ith he yearned ; 

Hoping, with loyal, Christian trust, 

That Prussia's king would yet be just. 



38 FREILIGRATH. 

That tranquil mien, that abstinence 

From smiting words, from song-winged blows, 
Was a pure souPs compelled defence. 

Beneath, a patriot spirit glows, 
That for one's country all would dare ; 
The stronger, that it could forbear. 

But when at last, by patient trial, 

That vulgar king's low mind he knew. 

That of sweet freedom the denial 
The king from slavish instincts drew. 

In stormy verse his ire he sped. 

And from his home and pension fled. 

In England now his bread he earns. 
By daily, common, mindless toil ; 

And sad, and silent, tearful turns 

His eyes towards his far German soil ; 

Yet thankful, too, that he is saved 

From those hard tyrants whom he braved. 



FREILIGRATH. 39 

And faded now 's that image meek, 

Dimmed by the splendors stern, that shine 

Around the martyr's pallid cheek. 
The gentle poet of the Rhine 

His deeds a hero-bard avow ; 

Whom then I loved, I reverence now. 

Woe to the country such must j3y ! 

Its core is foul with cankering blight ; 
Its throne 's a gilded, brazen lie. 

The poets are a people's light ; 
As were a sunless firmament. 
Is the cursed land whence they are sent. 



40 



THE LOST FOUND. 



Bewail not time that thou hast lost, 
Or days gone by and wasted ; 

'T is losing time to be thus tost 
By memories bitter-tasted. 



But work the grateful Present so, 
That some of what thou 'st planted 

To bounteous strength and fruitage grow 
And thanks, by brothers chanted. 



THE LOST FOUND. 41 

'T is thus thou 'It find those lost, sad days. 

Bereft too of their sorrows ; 
Our past bad debts there 's naught that pays, 

But gold of rich to-morrows. 



42 



GIVE! GIVE! 



The sun gives ever ; so the earth, 
What it can give, so much 't is worth. 
The ocean gives in many ways, — 
Gives paths, gives fishes, rivers, bays. 
So, too, the air, it gives us breath ; 
When it stops giving, comes in death. 

Give, give, be ahvays giving ; 

Who gives not is not living. 
The more you give. 
The more you live. 



GIVE ! GIVE ! 43 

God's love hath in us wealth upheaped ; 

Only by giving is it reaped. 

The body withers, and the mind. 

If pent in by a selfish rind. 

Give strength, give thought, give deeds, give pelf. 

Give love, give tears, and give thyself. 

Give, give, be always giving ; 

Who gives not is not living. 
The more we give. 
The more we live.. 



44 



AGNES. 



As birthday I will celebrate 

The day when first I met her ; 
From that 't is I my true life date, 

So much to it I 'm debtor. 
My heart I felt not till that day, 

My head, too, I belied it ; 
For what 's a head, in best array, 

Without a heart to guide it. 



AGNES. 45 

O, take my life, but not my love ; 

What were my life without her ? 
No star with its linked sun can move 

More true than I about her. 
Darkling I 'd err, were she aw^ay ; 

I 'm lost, were I to lose her ; 
She is my light, she is my stay, 

'Mongst millions I would choose her. 



46 



I WILL BE FREE. 



Down ! superserviceable knave. 
That basely yieldest all we crave, 

False sprite, Self-flattery ! 
Protean imp ! though thou canst throw thee 
Into all guises, now I know thee : 

Down ! down ! I will be free. 



I WILL BE FREE. 47 

And ye, who bring, so open, bold. 
Your gifts of power, applause, and gold. 

To bribe my liberty ; 
Millions you Ve chained in hellish fires ; 
Bold as ye be, ye all are liars : 

Avaunt ! I will be free. 

Ye too, with wiles, and sweets, and charms 
Full well I know ye and your harms, 

Ye spawn of luxury ! 
Ye carnal crew ! who calls you pleasures 
Is false, or knows not your false measures 

Begone ! I will be free. 

Hence all your honors, gawds, and pelf * 
I '11 none of them ; I '11 be myself, 

And strive for liberty. 
My soul ! be thou at last uprisen ; 
Life shall no longer be a prison. 

With death its only key. 



48 I WILL BE FREE. 

Spirits of beauty^ love, and truth, 
Potent to give perpetual youth. 

Come ye and bide with me. 
In your celestial influence fold me. 
And with your chastening strength uphold me 

God ! help me to be free. 



49 



THE SUFFERINGS OF JESUS. 



So weak our joys, so poor our lives. 
That towards thy affluence of soul 

Human conception vainly strives, 
Seizing but fragments of the whole. 

And we are glad ; we smile, we laugh ; 

But thou didst weep, didst never smile ; 
And so we deem, that thou didst quaff 

Of naught but sorrows, deep or vile. 
4 



50 THE SUFFERINGS OF JESUS. 

In that last awful ghastly scene, 

Where Sin and Death danced in mad glee. 
Our weakness makes thy sufferings keen ; 

We groan in fleshly sympathy. 

0, what to thee were torture's fangs ? 

What death, to thy ecstatic mind ? 
A tranquil dream were death's worst pangs ; 

Thy pain was pity for mankind. 

Earth's mists to earthly eyes bedim 
The sun, that calmly glows above : 

Through mists we see the cross, and Him, 
Calm with a strong pain-quenching love. 

Will vanish then our sensual fears, 

When we shall rise towards his pure living ; 
Sweeter than our best joys were tears 

Of him, whose life was one long giving. 



51 



THE BERNESE ALPS AT SUNSET. 



Ye mighty offspring of the strong young Time ! 

Gigantic brood of earth's primeval travail ! 

Before your silent, beaming majesty. 

With strange delight, with solemn joy, I gaze, 

The mind upmounting with your loftiness. 

Subhmity makes such familiar haunt 

Among your grandeurs manifold, that Beauty 

Shrinks modest down, to nestle at your feet. 

Ye are alone ; changeless, where all things change ; 

Motionless 'midst the unceasing flow of life. 



52 THE BERNESE ALPS AT SUNSET. 

Scarce do ye bear an earthly stamp, but high 
Ye lift your speechless, spotless heads, snow- 
blazoned, 
'Bove nether influence ; cleaving earthborn clouds, 
That round your cold sides cling, like living arms 
Around a corpse, insensate to their touch. 
A mystery ye are ; and from the plane 
And common of this vi^orld sudden ye rear 
Your giant forms, 'midst time's recurring spans. 
Fit emblems of eternity. Since first 
From Zurich's humble hills your image loomed, 
A heaven-suspended vision, on my sight. 
Day upon day I 've journeyed tovi^ards ye, won- 
dering ; 
Till now I stand, awed, baffled, at your base. 
Darkness fast fills the earth, but your white peaks 
Glow in the sunshine. Telegraphs 'twixt worlds ! 
Your sky-ward fronts brighten the sun's last ray. 
To me a herald from my far-off home. 



53 



A GORGEOUS SUNSET. 



As wonderful and fresh to-day- 
Is this magnificent array 
Of purpled light, as 't were the first 
That quenched man's beauty-craving thirst. 
Yet day ne'er died, but its last hour 
Was soothed by like soft solar shower. 
It is a promise, daily given, 
To sickly, sorrowing Earth, by Heaven, 
That pure and beautiful as this 
Is yet to be her daily bliss. 



54 



ECHO FROM ITALY IN 1830. 



Hark ! — 'T is past. Whence came that shiver- 
ing sound ? 
'T was the blast of tyrants ; France is bound. 

Still lower bend the knee. 

To deeper slavery. 

Woe-stricken Italy ! 



ECHO FROM ITALY IN 1830. 55 

Ha ! — Again. A crash like deafening thunder ! 

'T is the chain of bondage rent asunder. 
Exultant Italy, 
With clanging symphony. 
Sends back the maddening cry. 

Hark ! — A shout of hosts comes o'er the sea ! 
'T is the rout of tyrants ; France is free. 

The shout of victory, 

Of joy and liberty. 

Resounds through Italy. 



56 



REUBEN JAMES. 



On the deck, blood-soiled. 
In a death-grip coiled. 
The captains lay ; 
Decatur up, — below, the Turk. 

Fierce round them play 
The Christian sword and Moslem dirk. 
Above the hero's head 

A scymitar keen flashes ; 
An instant more, he 's sped : 
Down the sharp weapon dashes. 



REUBEN JAMES. 57 

To ward the blow. 
To seize the foe. 
Nor arm nor sword is there ; by stands 
But one poor tar, maimed in both hands. 
Down sweeps the Turkish glave, — 
Decatur naught can save. 
What cannot a brave heart ? 
That tar, with a quick start. 
Thrusts his young head between : 
It takes the steel's deep seam. 
'T was for a hero by a hero done : 
Both must be great that deed so great be won. 
Higher among heroic names 
Stands thenceforth none than Reuben James. 



58 



SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI. 



[This poem was suggested by one of the many fine passages 
in Cooper's Naval History of the United States.] 



A ROSIER flood of golden light, 

A livelier gush of melody. 
Told of a new earth-sent delight 

For Heaven's ceaseless jubilee. 
Joys none of purer holier birth 
Hath Heaven, than noble deeds on earth. 
Swift now the fire-eyed host 
Of warriors quit their post, 
And gathering, 
With flashing wing. 
On the deep nether bound of their blest home, 
Shone like a vast illuminated dome. 



SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI. 

Like keenest lightning. 
The broad day brightening, 
Glittered that army radiant, 
With bounding gladness jubilant. 
A myriad throng there mustered, 
In song- wove circles clustered. 
Of every age and strand. 
He who had sought 

The hero's death ; 
He who had wTought, 
With gushing breath. 
To build his fatherland ; 
He whose faint ear. 

On battle-fields lying. 
Freedom's glad cheer 

Had blest in his dying ; 
He whom the might 

Of duty had lifted, 
With front upright, 
By war to be rifted ; 



60 SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI. 

The hearty ones, whose deaths have been 
The births of deathless thoughts 'mongst men. 
With jocund flight, they sped their way 
Towards Afric's northern shore, where lay, 
On the black level of a sunless sea, 
Columbia's fleet, afront of Tripoli. 
They gathered round one slender bark, 
They smiled upon her starry banner ; 
Her deadly cargo they did mark. 
And as the men who were to man her 
Each freely came with eager will, 
A joy-born wave of richer light 
Pulsed through the angelic host a thrill. 
That flushed them more unearthly bright. 



Hushed is the fleet ; a fearful deed 's to do. 
All hearts are with that bark and her bold crew. 
A low ''God bless you ! " — seizure of the hand, ■ 
A manly, tender look, — and the choice band 



SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI. 61 

Have parted from their comrades. Fare ye well. 
Ye brave, with Somers, Wadsworth, Israel ! 
Calmly and silent takes his station each : 
Only who stay are moved. With warning speech, 
Decatur, who for self ne'er danger spied, 
Greets Somers ; and stout Preble's bosom sighed, 
As from his sight quick glided in the gloom 
The death-fraught vessel, onward to her doom. 

Through the dark and solemn night. 

Forth she slid like voiceless sprite. 

On her deck, so dread and cheerless. 

Thirteen hearts beat free and fearless. 

Friends were behind them, foes before ; 
Round and under. 
War's black thunder 

Slept till a spark should wake its roar. 

But Heaven smiled in stars above ; 
And deep within 
Each heart's full rim 

Glowed the strong fire of country's love. 



62 SCENE BEFORE TPIPOLI. 

Hushed deeper is the fleet. All eyes are one ; 
All fastened to the lone '' Intrepid's " path. 
The wind is gauged, the time 't will take to run 
To the Turk's cruisers, where will burst her wrath. 
The bold bark's desperate goal she '11 quickly gain ; 
The scene fore-paints itself on the strung brain : — 
See SoMERs stand, 
With fire in hand ; 
His comrades ready, 
No nerve unsteady : 
The match is lighted ; 
The crew, unfrighted, 
(Naught of earth could shake them,) 
To the boats betake them, — 
Harshly is rent this hopeful dream. 
Forth from the Moslem fort a stream 
Gushes of flame ; quick then the ear 
Is filled, too, by the cannoneer. 
Stream upon stream ; with each a mate 
Of thunder on the air doth grate. 



SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI. 63 

Is broke this hot suspense 

By what o'erwhelmed the sense. 

One flash, as though all light were spent ! 

One crash, as though a sphere were rent ! 

Trembled the wars-men to their keels ; 

Glared the dark sea, as thing that feels. 

By that appalling light, each saw 

His neighbour's visage blanched with awe. 

The air collapsed, as though a wrench 

Were made Earth's very life to quench. 
Silence and Night, as fraught with general death. 
Rush back, while Turk and Christian hold their 
breath. 



More slowly than when Ocean's homeward way 
Is balked with calms, drag on the minutes now. 

Keener than the fierce famished shark for prey, 
Watches each silent ship from stern to prow. 



64 SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI. 

Save when impetuous fancy cheats the hope 
With semblances of sound, nor eye nor ear 

Can seize on aught within their tensest scope. 
As hours wear sadly on, night grows more drear. 

Close to the water's edge the seamen creep, 
Striving to catch the stroke of muffled oar. 

The hands that should have pulled them, on the deep. 
Where Courage keeps his state, will pull no more. 

Gleams the high rocket ; booms the signal gun. 
Calling to SoMERs, Wadsworth, Israel. 

The heavenward gleam points to the path they 've 
gone ; 
The cannon's helpful roar, — it is their knell. 

None came to say, how died th' heroic band ; 

And Death and Night the fearful secret kept. 
Shrieked mothers, sisters, wives, as from that strand 

Reached the dread tale, and a whole nation wept. 



SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI. 65 

Gay as blossoms breeze-borne dancing, 
Heavenward flew tli' angelic host. 

Swift as sunbeams earthward glancing. 
Back to their empyreal post. 

E'er that glare the fleet that daunted 
Quick was swallowed by the night. 

They their song of triumph chanted 
Near th' eternal realms of light. 

Linked in wTeaths 'round heaven's portal, 
With the lightsome grace of joy, 

Hung that shining host immortal, 
Heirs of bliss without alloy. 

Backward then their vision darting. 

In the nether darkness met. 
Just from earth fresh upward starting, 

What seemed stars in circle set. 
5 



66 SCENE BEFORE TRIPOLI. 

Upward, upward, surely steering. 
Sparkling with perennial ray, 

Thirteen stars, all free careering 
Upward to the heavenly day. 

Now they near the blissful portal. 
Brightening still as they advance ; 

Now the exultant host immortal 
Close them in with choral dance. 



EPI GRAMS. 



EPIGRAMS. 



THE POETASTER. 

What is he like, a prosy versifier ? 
Like a dipt goose he is, immersed in mire. 
He could not fly, unclogged by any balk ; 
Behampered thus, he cannot even walk. 



70 EPIGRAMS. 



"GREAT STATESMEN." 



Like plummet in mid ocean sounding. 
Like him who crystals would be rounding, 
Are they who rule, and fashion laws, — 
Things that are chiefly made of flaws. 
And yet, men dub them great ; the while 
Angels or weep, or pitying smile. 

But why, blind as they are, why rail about them ? 

The world 's so bad, it cannot do without them. 



EPIGRAMS. 71 



ISMS. 



Say, thoughtless skeptics, ye who doubt 

The Devil's true existence, 
What are these isms all about, — 

What, but to God resistance ? 
God's will is, that we aye should live 

In union fraternal ; 
But these bring hate, and mankind rive 

With enmities infernal. 
From one vile common parent spring 

All isms with their schism ; 
Born he of Satan's venomed sting, — 

The monster, Egotism. 



72 EPIGRAMS. 



Through business' wastes and passion's fogs. 

Men run their petty round ; 
They make one think of little dogs. 

Their noses to the ground. 



Philosophers say, in their deep-pondered books. 
It were well if each man found his level. 

Sage sirs, this is not quite so good as it looks, 
For 't would send a whole host to the Devil. 



Religion 's ever soiled and soiled 
And by man's foulness hurt ; 

The cleanest thing will be defiled 
By contact with the dirt. 



EPIGRAMS. 73 



No carpenter so quick with rule. 
To measure height and length. 

As is a pert, self-ignorant fool, 
To gauge a wise man's strength. 



SONNETS 



77 



ON THE FIFTY-FIFTH SONNET OF 
SHAKSPEARE. 



The soul leaps up to hear this mighty sound 

Of Shakspeare triumphing. With glistening eye. 

Forward he sent his spirit, to espy 

Time's gratitude, and catch the far rebound 

Of fame from worlds unpeopled yet ; and, crowned 

With brightening Hght through all futurity. 

His image to behold up-reaching high, 

'Mongst the world's benefactors most renowned. 



78 SONNETS. 

Like to the ecstasy, by man unnamed. 
The spheral music doth to Gods impart. 
Was the deep joy that thou hast here proclaimed 
Thy song's eternal echo gave thy heart. 
O, the world thanks thee that thou 'st let us see, 
Thou knew'st how great thou wast, how prized 
to be ! 



79 



TO THE STATUE OF EVE, BY POWERS. 



Who that has had of beauteous womanhood 
Translucent visions, in his holiest dreams, 
Or when the abstracted, waking mind so teems 
With images of beauty, that 't will brood. 
In happiest silence, on the fertile mood 
So deeply, till each outward thing but seems 
Fantastic, while the flashing, inward gleams 
Compound a loveliness that would be wooed 



80 SONNETS. 

As a reality, — were such to come 
Before thee, with a virgin joy, his soul, 
Like a new spirit in Elysium, 
Would gush with ecstasy, while from it roll 
All memories of dreams or inward sight. 
Paled by the fulgence of thy wondrous light. 

Florence, February 24th, 1842. 



81 



TO THE SAME. 



The Greeks — whose fresh imaginations blent 
Spirit with form so richly in their youth 
That Beauty wore the radiant crown of Truth, 
And ever bodied forth some wise intent 
Direct from Jove Minerva drew, and rent 
His mighty brain, to give becoming birth 
To Wisdom's Goddess, that her peerless worth 
Might not be marred by dallying passion's vent. 
6 



82 SONNETS. 

Powers is a new Jove ; and on his brain 
What has begot this perfect woman (who 
Like Pallas shall breed thoughts of purest strain) 
Is the young life his giant country drew 
From heaven and her own soul, where no old art 
Nor chains the soaring mind, nor chills the heart. 

Florence, March 4th, 1842. 



83 



TO THE LEGISLATURE OF MARYLAND, 

DISCUSSING THE RESUMPTION OF PAYBIENT. 

Look in the face of God, who looks at you ; 

And, hke a cur before the lion's lair. 

You '11 quake to speechlessness, or you will swear, 

With soul-drawn valor, that you will be true. 

But set your thought on high, you '11 feel what 's due 

Unto yourselves and sons. But if you wear 

An earthward look, you 're lost ; and we must bear 

A load of shame not ages will subdue. 



84 SONNETS. 

Freemen, it is the cause of liberty : 

The able debtor is the basest slave. 

O, ward us from a blighting infamy ! 

If the State wills, she can. He is a knave. 

Who says she should not, whom we must despise. 

And scorn, and loathe : who says she cannot, lies. 

Baltimore, January 31st, 1844. 



FROM GOETHE 



The following translations are gleanings, and not selec- 
tions, from Goethe's shorter poems. This golden field was 
harvested some years ago, by Mr. John S. Dwight, whose 
beautiful volume, " Select Minor Poems of Goethe and 
Schiller," is a model of what may be accomplished in 
poetical translation. But Goethe is so various, as well as so 
abundant, that he still leaves fruit for successive laborers. 

In these few pages, the grace that ever attends his pen 
is perceptible even in the shortest pieces, and glimpses are 
had of the beauty and grandeur of his mind. But in them 
are chiefly exhibited the wit, the playfulness, and the practi- 
cal wisdom of Goethe, presenting aspects of the genial, 
many-sided man, with which only such American and Eng- 
lish readers are familiar as have access to him in German. 

With the exception of one little piece, " The Hypochon- 
driac," the translator has faithfully preserved the measures 
of the originals^ a fidelity which is especially important in 
attempts to reproduce in another tongue the poetry of Goethe. 



89 



A CONFESSION. 



What is hard to conceal ? — Fire. 
By day, smoke shows it far and wide ; 
By night, its flame, the monster dire. 
Further, Love, too, is hard to hide. 
However closely it be hidden. 
Forth from the eyes it leaps unbidden. 
A Poem is yet harder still ; 
Put it 'neath a bushel no one will. 



90 FROM GOETHE. 

If that the poet has just done singing. 
His whole soul will be with it ringing. 
If neatly he has writ it down. 
He 'd have it liked by all the town. 
To each he reads it, loud and joyous ; 
Whether it please us or annoy us. 



91 



SONGS 



CHRISTEL. 

Dejected oft I feel, and low, 

With inward, heavy pain ; 
If then I to my Christel go. 

Then all is well again. 
I see her here, I see her there. 

And still I cannot tell 
Wherefore, or how, or when, or where 

She pleases me so well. 



92 FROM GOETHE. 

Those black and roguish eyes of hers. 

The eyebrows black above, — 
One look therein my blood it stirs. 

It hghts my heart with love. 
Has any one a mouth so sweet ? 

Her cheek 's a rosy hill. 
So round it is, and, ah ! so meet ; 

No eye can look its fill. 



And when I firm have clasped her waist 

In the airy German dance, 
Around we go in whirling haste, — 

I thrill as in a trance. 
And when she dizzy grows and warm, 

I cradle her as we flee. 
Upon my breast, within my arm, — 

A kingdom 't is to me. 



93 



SWEETNESS OF SORROW. 



Dry not up, dry not up, 

Tears of eternal love ! 

Ah ! even to eyes that are but half dried, 

How desert, how dead, the world to them seems ! 

Dry not up, dry not up, 

Tears of unfortunate love ! 



94 



WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONG. 



Thou who dost in heaven bide, 

Every pain and sorrow stillest. 
Him whom twofold woes betide 

With a twofold solace fillest, 
O, this tossing, let it cease ! 

What means all this pain, unrest ? 
Soothing peace ! 

Come, O, come into my breast ! 



95 



A DEFIANCE. 



O, WERE I but as fair 

As the maidens are inland ! 

They wear smart yellow hats all, 
With rosy-ruddy band. 

Believing that one fair is. 

Surely is received ; 
In the town, ah ! he said so, 

And there I believed. 



96 FROM GOETHE. 

Now in spring-time, ah me ! 

All my joy, 'way it whirls ; 
The girls they so win him 

The brown country-girls. 

And the waist and the skirt 
I '11 change at a bound ; 

The bodice is longer, 
The jacket is round. 

I will wear a straw hat. 
And a spencer like snow, 

And reap with the others. 
Where clover-buds blow. 

If he sees 'mongst the quire 
Something pretty and trim. 

The warm, roguish fellow. 
He beckons me in. 



A DEFIANCE. 97 



And I go all ashamed ; 

He knows me not apace. 
My cheek till he pinches. 

And sees then my face. 

The town-maiden threats 
You girls an affray ; 

And charms that are double 
Will carry the day. 



7 
# 



98 



HYMN OF THE ARCHANGELS. 



FROM THE PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN, IN FAUST. 



RAPHAEL. 

The sun in wonted guise is sounding 

In brother-spheres the rival song, 
And on his destined path is bounding 

With thunder-movement bright along ; 
His aspect angels vigor lendeth. 

Though none his being fathom may ; 
The works, whose might all thought transcendeth. 

Are grand as on creation's day. 



HYMN OF THE ARCHANGELS. 99 



GABRIEL. 



And swift and swift the earth is streaming. 

With gorgeous change, so dark, so bright ; 
In hues of paradise now beaming. 

And now wrapt deep in gloom of night. 
The sea, 'gainst rushing rivers striving, 

On rocks upheaves its foam and wrath ; 
And rock and sea are onward driving 

Eternally m heaven's path. 

MICHAEL. 

And storms in conflict wild are pouring 

From land to sea, from sea to land ; 
And form, while raging fierce and roaring, 

Of deepest action one close band. 
There lightning's vivid flash is glaring 

Before the coming thunder hoarse ; 
But these, O Lord ! thy orders bearing. 

Revere the universe's course. 



100 FROM GOETHE. 



ALL THREE. 



The aspect angels vigor lendeth. 

Though none thy being fathom may ; 

Thy works, whose might all thought transcendeth. 
Are grand as on creation's day. 



101 



PROVERBIAL. 



Flee to the furthest bound ; go where 
The smallest frontier cabin reaches ; 

What boots it thee ? thou findest there 
Tobacco still, and evil speeches. 



But do what 's right in thy affairs. 
The rest 's done for thee unawares. 



102 FROM GOETHE. 



I EGOIST ! not so, I wist. 
Envy, he is the egoist. 
The many roads that I have gone, 
On envy's path has found me none. 



Much already thou hast done, 

When habit of patience thou hast won. 



Nothing could make me deeper moan. 
Than being in Paradise alone. 



PROVERBIAL. 103 



Let me do, it is my best. 
Aye some end pursuing : 

The rich heart, it cannot rest ; 
Alway 't will be doing. 



How pat would all things be, and nice, 
If we could only do them twice. 



A THOUSAND flies at night I slay ; 
Yet wakes me one at earUest day. 



101 FROM GOETHE. 



The tender poem, like the rainbow's arc, 
Can only bloom on a ground that 's dark. 
Thence poets love, though not sad wholly, 
The element of melancholy. 



Thy chestnuts, if too long they burn, 
All into coals are sure to turn. 



To sweetly remember, and finely to think, 
Is tasting of life at its deep, inmost brink. 



PROVERBIAL. 105 



Who, then, is the sovereign Man ? 

That is quickly said : 
He whom no one hinder can. 

Be his aim or good or bad. 



Who right will do alway and with zest. 

Let him harbour true love in thought and breast. 



At first hand. 

Understand 

What 't is the world takes ill of thee 

It asks not soul, it asks civility. 



106 FROM GOETHE. 



Who quick resolves doth make. 
He 's brave and bold, I cry. 

He jumps into the lake, 
Out of the rain to fly. 



Doubly gives who quick gives ; 
Hundredfold who quick gives 
What one wants and loves. ^ 



* I subjoin the original as a curious exemplification of the 
family likeness between the German and English languages : — 



Doppelt giebt wer gleich giebt ; 
Hundertfach der gleich giebt 
Was man wiinscht und liebt. 



PROVERBIAL. 107 



Know thou thyself. For that what were my pay ? 
Know I myself, quick must I run away. 
'T were just as if, at a masquerade ball, 
I from my face should my mask let fall. 



When likest thou best to stoop ? 
A spring-flower for thy love to pluck. 



Who 's he w^ho Fortune's highest palm has won ? 
Who joyful does, and joys in what he 's done. 



108 FROM GOETHE. 



Divide and rule, — strong words indeed. 
But better still, — unite and lead. 



No greater merit do I know. 
Than to allow that of the foe. 



2 



109 



EPIGRAMMATIC. 



TOTALITY. 

A GENTLEMAN of head and heart 

Is welcome everywhere ; 
With subtile wit and jestings smart. 

He captivates the fair. 
But if he wants both strength and fist. 

Who shields his seat of wit ? 
And if his hinder parts are missed. 

How can the good man sit ? 



110 FROM GOETHE. 



ORIGINALITY. 



One says, — "I 'm not of any school ; 

No living master gives me rule : 

Nor do I in the old tracks tread ; 

I scorn to learn aught from the dead." 

Which means, if I have not mistook, 

" I am an ass on my own hook." 



ADVICE. 



And so you '11 no denial take : 
Advice you ask ; that I can give 

But, only for my quiet's sake. 
Promise that you wont by it live. 



EPIGRAMMATIC. Ill 



HUMILITY. 



When I the masters' works look on, 
I see then that which they have done : 
When I behold my motley crew, 
I see what 't was I had to do. 



OLD AGE. 

Age is polite ; with time's sure lapse. 
Often and oft he gently taps ; 
To say, '' Come in," can no one bide. 
Now he 's not one to stay outside ; 
He Hfts the latch, and quick the door 
Is past : all cry, — An ill-bred boor ! 



112 FROM GOETHE. 



TO BE GOOD, AN EGG MUST BE FRESH. 

Enthusiasm, the which blood stirs. 
Is like the oyster, my good sirs. 
Only when fresh is 't good to eat. 
For else, 't is but indifferent meat. 
Enthusiasm is n't herring-wares, 
That 's salted up for after years. 



MY CHOICE. 

I LIKE the best the kindly man, 

'Mongst all the guests that I could name. 
Who make game of himself, too, can ; 

Who cannot, is himself not game. 



• 



EPIGRAMMATIC. 113 



EXAMPLE. 



Whenever I impatient grow. 
Earth's patience to my mind I show. 
Which, as we 're told, turns daily round, 
And travels yearly the same ground. 
For what else, then, am I placed here ? 
I follow my good mother dear. 



EQUALITY. 

For what is greatest no one strives. 
But each one envies others' lives : 
The worst of enviers is the elf 
Who thinks that all are like himself. 

8 



114 FROM GOETHE. 



PANACEA. 



" Say, how dost thou ever and ever thyself re- 



new 



? " 



The same canst thou, if to the great thou 'h ever 

be true. 
The great remains fresh, warming, and lifts up the 

will ; 
Whilst in the little shakes the little with a chill. 



THE BEST. 

When in thy head and heart it stirs, 
How bettered could thy doom be ? 

Who no more loves and no more errs 
Had better in his tomb be. 



EPIGRAMMATIC. 115 



COMPANY. 

From a large company, where he had spent 
An evening, home a quiet savant went. 
His friends asked how he liked it ; he decreed them 
This answer, — ''Were they books, I would not 
read them." 



116 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



A SPOT was seeking Love's keen smart, 
A dreary and a lonely space ; 

It came across my desert heart 
And nestled in the empty place. 



As guides by land and sea, 
God set the stars on high ; 

That they our joy may be, 
Aye looking to the sky. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 1 17 



When all hope and help desert you, 
And you wail, depressed, heart-broken, 

There is still a healing virtue 
In a word that 's kindly spoken. 



Do thou good for the love of good : 
Deliver this unto thy blood. 
If naught stays with thy children of it, 
Thy children's children yet 't will profit. 



Be never thou, whatever haps, 
Seduced to contradict ; 

The wisest into ignorance lapse. 
Who with the unwise conflict. 



118 FROM GOETHE. 



Enweri says 't, — one of God's noblest creatures. 
Who knows of heart and head the deep'st, best 

features, — 
In all tunes, places, your account you '11 find 
In tolerance, judgment, and an upright mind. 



Who would not be at the mercy of a thief 
Conceals his gold, his goings, and belief. 



119 



A PARABLE. 



When I to the market hie 

Through the throng, 
And the pretty maiden spy 

The crowd among ; 
Go I here, she comes to me. 

But above ; 
No one can about us see 
How we love. 



120 FROM GOETHE. 

'' Old man, wilt thou ne'er be quiet ! 

Ever maiden ! 
In the time of youthful riot, 

'T was a Katechen. 
Who is 't now makes thy days sweet ? 

Say, old youth." 
Look there how she me doth greet, — 
It is Truth. 



121 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 



The Devil take all human kind ! 

They are enough to craze one ! 
Then stoutly I make up my mind. 

No creature e'er I '11 gaze on. 
I '11 let the world go its own pace. 

And to the Devil leave it. 
Scarce do I see a human face, 

I love it, would relieve it. 



122 



FIVE THINGS. 



Friendship wont grow within the breast of pride ; 

Ill-bred are they who aye with lowness bide ; 

Unto no greatness can attain a knave ; 

Envy to weakness never pity gave ; 

In vain for truth and faith the liar looks ; 

These let thy mind hold fast with its best hooks. 



123 



FIVE OTHER THINGS. 



What makes the time pass quickly ? 

Activity. 
What long and heavy both ? 

What else but sloth. 
What doth debts create ? 

To bear and wait. 
What brings rich gains along ? 

Not to think long. 
What doth honors collect ? 

Self-respect. 



124 



A REVIEWER. 



To dinner once I had a lout ; 

It happened not to put me out, 

I gave him just my common dinner ; 

He ate like any hungry sinner. 

Of what I gave him with good-will, 

Scarce had the fellow got his fill, 



m 



A REVIEWER. 125 

The Devil led him to a neighbour, 

To talk there 'bout my dinner's savour. 

" Soup might have been more spiced," he told, 

^^ Browner the roast, the wine more old." 

Pots tausend^ pin him with a skewer. 

Strike the dog dead, — 't is a Reviewer. 



THE END. 



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